But it’s more to the relishing of seeing things grow. And sharing in that growth. My father comes from a planting background, as a farmer. Early on, our family bought a farm, some several miles from our house in Spokane — mostly hay, back in the beginning. But later, the family — including all the brothers, and Dad, brought trees to plant. And more trees. And more — till finally, the bulk of the land is covered in pine. But it was never about the idea of cutting the trees, but converting the land.

Walking round, cleaning the land around the island studio, I see the many little plantings that have moved to permanence, after nearly two decades of growth. Here, too, are trees that have moved along — some, to growth, others have passed in the harsh and salted winds and rain. Cedars, transplanted couldn’t survive the shift from inland forests to more coastal weather.

I’m seeing the inklings of spring, just coming. Little sprigs of green emerging – the hints that the fierce grasp of winter is shifting to the season of renewal.

The nature of planting — the nurturing sprig or seedling — it’s a mutual gift, whether gardens, flowers, trees; but that gift, as I’ve seen in my parents, is as much a gift in the practice of planting, as the nourishing of green to the outcome of that gesture.

With the sun shining, it’s a day that celebrates that transition, just now — glinting rays illuminate the far shore like a rule of scintillant light, shimmering in slivers.